These feet were made for walking
by SheyRicci
Summary: Brock rides in the chopper with Clay whose injuries remain unknown to the team.
1. Chapter 1

Howdy Ho ALL!

I admit to being a fan of David Boreanaz and will give anything he's in a go. Doesn't mean I will like it and stay with it, but I do like him enough to give it a try.

SEAL Team has some quirks, but I like it, I really do. Here's hoping the behind the scenes turmoil with writers and show runners settles down for a great season 2!

* * *

"Got him."

Jason heard the two words crackle in his ear piece, pausing a split second to send a silent thank you heavenward then continued the assault until he emptied the clip.

Ray heard the two words crackle in his ear piece and took a split second to lower his head in a silent prayer then continued the assault until he emptied the clip.

Sonny heard the two words crackle in his ear piece and threw his head back to give voice to the scream of frustration over the entire situation then continued the assault until he emptied the clip.

 _Him._ Not the package, not the cargo, not the object, but _him._

The humming whumpwhumpwhump ofchoppers were heard, the air around them began to kick up and spin and swirl as the first to reach the cleared land descended and arms of the crew inside reached out to accept the cargo tossed their way before the chopper could land.

Trent went down on one knee to provide cover as Brock finished handing off Clay, nearly falling and smacking his head against a runner when his vest was grabbed and he was hauled into the bobbing chopper that still hovered, not having landed. Brock struggled for his freedom, eyes on his team still on the ground, holding off advancing hostiles until the chopper could take off and the other land…he frantically sought his team leader, fighting to swing his feet to the ground, when Jason threw all caution to the wind and stood up straight, waving the chopper off, somehow giving Brock a thumb's up, his permission to go, while still waving like a madman.

Brock went limp and offered no further resistance. He was hauled safely into the depths of the chopper, the command to GO was given and the chopper rose, slowly at first, then when cleared of the only copse of trees in the vicinity, wouldn't you know, that was their luck, nosed down and hit a faster yet safe speed.

Chest heaving, breath stuck, Brock scrambled to his knees, worry and concern for the team left behind pushed down as he crawled up to the medic hovering over Clay. He knew better than to get in the way, but had to see with his own eyes, the rise and fall of Clay's chest, only then would he believe Clay still breathed. Once he was convinced, he sat back on his heels and watched and listened. He wasn't satisfied, wouldn't be until they landed and Jason arrived to demand and receive answers.

Looking out the open door, from the way their chopper had banked, he could see the other chopper circling, waiting to land and retrieve the remaining four members of Bravo Team left behind. He shook his head to clear the image and responded to the command to hand over a pair of scissors from the bag on the floor next to his knees.

It was amazing really, how fast two medics could rid a man of his armor and gear and hell, all his clothes. Course, they'd also had both a knife and scissors to help them with their speed. He wished Derek had been on board then mentally chided himself for the selfish thought. His eyes searched the growing pile of discarded gear, searching for holes, tears, stains, blood…..anything, but there was nothing. He looked at Clay, really looked. No bruises on his face, no cuts or scrapes or rash from road burn, not even a split lip.

Huh.

Brock continued to silently watch as hands weaved and threaded their way through Clay's mop of hair, searching, feeling, for lumps and bumps, gashes or lacerations. Negative.

Eyelids were lifted, pupils checked with a pen light. Mouth was opened, teeth accounted for, tongue still there…..Brock shuddered, the thought of anyone having their tongue cut out made him ill…nothing down his throat, up his nose or shoved in either ear, which thankfully, remained intact and attached.

"He's barefoot." Brock said suddenly, stupidly.

"Two feet, ten toes." A medic said dismissively.

"Not a priority." The other said.

"But he has no boots." Brock couldn't get past that. He simply couldn't. He'd been briefed about all kinds of torture, had seen it, had experienced some of it. Clay wasn't missing his boots because someone had wanted a nice pair of shoes. These bloody insurgents didn't care about obtaining information, they tortured for the fun of it. Granted, they hadn't had possession of Clay all that long – and Brock wasn't going to be anywhere around to be found when the chopper carrying Jason returned. Oh no. Nope. Jason would be out for blood and if Ray couldn't rein him in –and Brock seriously doubted Ray would even try this time – and calm him down, no one could. Heads had already rolled.

Don't anyone go getting Brock wrong. When the information had come down that Clay hadn't returned from what was supposed to have been a simple mission escorting a D.C, dick to a public market – a desk lackey who had no business landing in Afghanistan and who had overridden Jason's objections and outright refusal over taking Clay with him – Brock had stood firmly and proudly behind Jason when he'd informed every higher ranking official in the room that he was going after Clay with or without permission. With shoulders set squarely, chest out, head high, eyes straight ahead, Brock, with the rest of the team had followed behind when Jason had stalked out after whipping the door open so hard, a hinge had fallen off.

He'd heard the arguments against Bravo Team taking on the rescue mission; had sat quietly with the rest of his team while the fucking schmuck had labeled it a recovery mission; had done nothing when, with a single punch, Jason had knocked several of the assholes teeth lose, one completely out of his mouth. Someone had finally given consent, so said Blackburn, but it hadn't mattered. If the team had had to travel by camel in civilian robes, to town they would have rode.

He reached for Clay's hand and when neither medic stopped him, took hold, joined thumbs and squeezed his fingers in a comforting gesture. Clay squeezed back, but didn't open his eyes. Brock wanted to push, but knew better and once again sat back and watched. The kid was in there somewhere and Brock would be patient until Clay was ready to come out and greet him. He was just thankful Clay remained in possession of all ten fingernails.

The examination of Clay's head done to their satisfaction, the medic's moved their attention down to his neck, shoulders and chest, searching for broken or dislocated bones. Brock saw the telltale marks of tight restraints on Clay's wrists, but there was no lacerations or severe bruising…the skin wasn't even broken…..so, woot!

The kid now dressed in only boxer briefs, Brock could see the sunburn on Clay's shoulders, wondered what his back looked like. On cue, they rolled Clay to his side. Ouch. Shoulders and back sunburned. Yeah, the kid was a blondie, so fair-skinned. Hope it didn't blister. How long did it take to blister? Brock didn't know. With his complexion, he tanned, never burned. Still, even with ointment and creams, it was going to cause the kid some serious discomfort.

Brock blinked, what was that? Oh, a needle. Common sense told him no one on board the chopper would intentionally hurt the kid, but still, he didn't like needles. And any needle poking into a vein hurt, he didn't care what anyone said. He didn't have a phobia, he just didn't like them. So when the medic, and with no gentle touch mind you – Brock got it, he did, haste was the importance here – pierced Clay's skin for an IV, Brock winced, even if the kid didn't.

"What's that for?" Brock asked, knowing he shouldn't but did so anyway. He wasn't in their way, what harm could a question or two cause.

"He's dehydrated." Came the reply. "White tongue."

"Oh." Brock nodded.

Brock fidgeted, wanting to know everything they were doing, but Clay was quiet, unconscious probably and Brock had been trained to stay out of the way. Good God, the tongue lashing Jason would serve if word got back to him that Brock hadn't behaved as befitting an elite Navy Seal. But fuck, the exam was taking forever!

It wasn't really though, the medics knew their job and performed it efficiently, working as a team. They worked together and communicated with each other quietly; grateful Brock was simply sitting and staying out of their way. These elite Seal teams had an uncanny connection to one another and more often than not, when one was injured, got in their way.

The chopper dipped and swayed, nothing to be concerned over, but Clay stirred, frowning as he came to, blinking cloudy blue eyes open to stare up at two unfamiliar faces.

"You're okay buddy, relax."

Yeah, those words offered with no comfort were not at all reassuring, so relax he didn't. He tried to sit up, felt a pull on his arm and reached with his hand to pull the needle from his arm. When the medic tried to stop him, Clay lashed out with a fist, knees coming up.

"Whoa!" Brock reacted without thought. He bit his lip, darting a glance at the medic, expecting a reprimand but none came. "Clay, hey there kiddo, I'm right here. Ya see me?"

Clay blinked, turned to gaze blearily at the voice he knew. "Brock."

"Yup, lie back and let them have their way with you."

Silence. "Okay." Clay shrugged and obeyed.

"Well, damn me." The medic said. "That just beats all."

"All it takes is someone we trust." Brock said and once again sat back and let them continue their all over body search for injury.

Whumpwhumpwhump, the sound and motion lulled Brock into a feeling of sleep. He was exhausted, they all were. No one had gotten any sleep the previous night, even though they had retired to their bunks after being ordered there by Jason, who had even joined them in their quarters, sitting hunched over on Clay's bunk, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. No one had said a word, but being all together, Jason with them, had made the night bearable. Even Blackburn had poked his head through their door two or three times, had brought them coffee and scones. They'd been up before dawn and on the road before complete sunrise.

Would this flight ever end? Brock rubbed his eyes, grinding the sand deeper, causing a red, swollen appearance. A packet landed in his lap. Eye wipes…..oooh that felt good.

Clay was still quiet, no bruises or wounds visible to Brock's eye, so he laid his head back and let the soothing wet-wipe soak into his abused eye lids. He'd pay attention when he heard the medics say they'd reached Clay's unimportant feet.

Oh, they were all in trouble. Big trouble. Wouldn't have been if they had obeyed orders from those over Jason, but they hadn't, they had all followed Jason out of the command center in silent support. Let someone else go after Clay? Not be angry Clay had been taken in the first place? All would have been different if they'd all been on the mission and one of them had been captured. Then yes, return to base and send another team after Bravo's missing team member. That is the way it was done. But to override Jason's objections and send the kid on some stupid assignment simply because Clay was young and new and his dad was a dick? Not cool.

Brock had seen his team leader, his boss – call him whatever – angry and pissed off before, but nothing like yesterday. Not even Ray had been able to talk him down. Not that Ray had tried all that hard. He was just as pissed as Jason. Brock had seen Jason upset, grief-stricken, eaten up with guilt and remorse and seen him grind to a halt with second guessing and self-doubt, but never, never had he seen him so out of control.

 _"You are not going to tell me what to do." Jason had the man up against a wall by his tie, twisting it in his fist until the man, blood dripping to his chin, gaped for his breath. A tooth lay on the floor but Jason showed no signs his fist hurt. "No one here is. Let me make myself clear." He dragged the man away from the wall, smacked his head against a shelf then with one hand, threw him down upon a desk. "I will tear that town down, take homes apart brick by brick, there won't be an inhabitable building left standing…..I will shoot the men in the legs, corral the woman, remove the children until someone talks. I'm coming out of that market with that kid and no one….NO ONE is going to stand in my way."_

And Bravo Team had followed their leader and done just that.

Brock accepted a bottle of water, answering a question or two about Clay's ability to adapt to heat. He replayed that scene in his head over and over. He could imagine the interview, court hearing, review…whatever by Blackburn's superiors.

 _"Please tell us why you left the room."_

 _"I followed Jason."_

 _"Please tell us why you went on this mission."_

 _"I followed Jason." Ooh, they didn't like him calling Jason, Jason. Tough shit._

 _"And do you always follow Master Chief Hayes?" aah, trying to prove a point._

 _"Yes, sir."_

 _"Why do you do that?"_

 _"Because he is Jason."_

Brock chuckled…oh, in some ways he couldn't wait for that meeting!

"He doesn't like that."

The medics' calm tone jerked Brock back to the reality in the chopper. What the….? Oh. Right. The kid. Their kid who didn't yet realize that, despite orders from Jason's superiors, you obeyed Jason. Clay might have known what Jason's orders had been, if he'd been present in the meeting where Jason had threatened 'war at their front door' if anyone took Clay or any member of his team on a mission Jason deemed stupid and useless.

Brock sighed. He couldn't fault Clay for following orders. Jason didn't blame the kid either. The fault lay with the man who'd ignored Jason and took Clay on a stupid, senseless mission anyway when Jason's back had been turned, so to speak. And Jason wasn't used to being ignored or overruled. He'd said no and to him, that was the end of it. He'd left the meeting without another thought. Looking back, a good other thought would have been to tell Clay to ignore any orders other than Jason's own. Brock knew, despite being uncertain and cocky, oh yes, their kid was indeed cocky, that Clay would have refused those direct orders had he known better. That was on Jason.

"Jesus."

That one word uttered in that tone had Brock on his knees and crawling forward. The medics let him crowd in, the heel of Clay's left foot in the palm of one medic and Clay was squirming, jerking on his foot to break the hold.

"Kid, enough." Brock commanded gently. "Be still."

And Clay stilled.

Wow, foot holding medic thought. If only all their patients were so accommodating upon command. Well, he conceded, his current patient only was so compliant because of the Seal kneeing beside him. He wished all team members were as accommodating as this one, but they weren't. This one hadn't even asked if his fallen team member was going to be okay. He let them do their jobs and trusted them to call upon him if needed.

"Knife, you think?"

"Maybe to peel the skin off. Razor though, for all those cuts."

"Kid ain't gonna be walking anytime soon."

"Put a time on 'anytime'." Brock ordered, remaining calm despite the dips and swirls in this belly that weren't caused by the motion of the chopper.

"Two weeks."

Brock nodded. That was acceptable. Never was not.

"No broken toes."

"He'll hobble about. Cuts aren't deep."

No, just covered every possible inch of the bottom of both feet. And that was after the first layer – perhaps two, even three – of skin had been peeled off. Brock shuddered. He was never peeling a carrot again.

"Anything in them?"

"Yeah, tweezers. Looks like maybe glass."

Brock moved back. He'd stepped on glass and pebbles, hell, even staples that had caused small cuts on the bottoms of his feet. The smaller, the more they stung. Those kinds of cuts, though shallow, always burned. And when sweating, which they all did daily, they itched. And as they healed, the skin was tight and every twitch of a toe made the skin pull. Of course, Brock had never had the skin flayed off his feet either. Or had anything imbedded in those little paper-like cuts. And he'd only had one or two on one foot.

So, fuck it. He really had no idea how the kid felt.

Brock lifted a bottle to his lips, savoring the cold, wet water. Better than warm, dry water. Yes, there was such a thing, but after hours in the hot desert, eating sand, any moisture was ambrosia.

"…some….."

Brock blinked, looking around, gaze resting on blue eyes that stared at the bottle of water in his hand. Aah, Clay wanted his water.

"Can he?" Brock asked the medic. Had they been in the field, he wouldn't have asked anyone's permission. Oh, Clay was _theirs_ but Clay wasn't his patient.

"Small sips, pause in between." Came the distracted response. "He spits it out or can't swallow, don't panic, let him wet his tongue much as he wants."

"Okay kid." Brock moved up to kneel beside Clay's shoulder and with one hand, lifted his head from the floor. "Ready?" he tipped the bottle and Clay parted his lips and moved his tongue to accept the offer of water. The medic was watching, nodded when Clay swallowed and Brock pulled the bottle back then returned it to offer more and returned his attention to Clay's foot. "Yeah, okay, you play." Brock said when Clay let the water dribble over his lips, chasing it with his tongue. "I'm okay with that."

"Chopper?" Clay winced, pulling his foot back slightly. "Ow."

"On our way to base." Brock replied. "You're good."

"The team?"

"Right behind us." Brock lied. He hoped they were. Hoped the chopper, with its own crew, had enough room for all four of their team. If not, Jason would have stayed behind, which meant Ray had, which meant only Sonny and Trent would land and beat him up when he failed to deliver the information they wanted to be told: Clay was okay, no harm had befallen him and they could all go out for a drink.

"Cerb?"

"Left at base. Not needed on this mission." Brock said lightly. Oh no, no dog needed. Not with Jason on the rampage. And boy, had he been. Whew.

"Brock?"

"Yeah kid?"

"I know….team motto is…keep to yourself….what…how…you feel." his eyes rolled and he jerked so violently, the medic holding his foot fell back. "….not so good."

Yeah, Brock thought, you don't feel so good, I know. He was about to break his own vow to stay out of the way and ask if Clay could have something for the pain when the medic produced a needle and quickly injected it.

Good grief, I hate seeing a needle!

"Do flayed feet really hurt that much?" Brock asked, knowing they probably did. No, no probably about it. "Sorry kid." With Clay unconscious, he moved to sit back against the wall of the chopper, letting the violent whump-whumping vibration clatter his teeth and make his tail bone go numb. He didn't deserve comfort when Clay was in so much pain that he required morphine or the like to remain quiet.

He let his eyes close, new cleansing wipe over his eyelids, massaging with his thumbs. This damn flight was taking hours. It was never going to end.

"How long we been in the air?" he asked quietly. Had to be at least half an hour.

"7 minutes."

Well, fuck. It took him that long to get off just his vest and in less than half that time, two medics had stripped Clay to his underwear and checked every inch of skin and bone the kid possessed.

Well, that proves it, Brock ole buddy, you'll never make it as a medic.

The chopper landed and Brock waited until Clay had been off-loaded then pushed his butt along the floor to the open doorway. He swung his legs over and climbed out, off, whatever, wondering how his butt had managed to go numb in what had been probably 60 seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

I know little and nothing about military lingo, time, distance, talk….blah, blah, blah….so forgive me while I cheat!

* * *

Jason was the last one to board the waiting chopper. He'd made them wait, not entirely on purpose, while carried through on his threat to leave no remaining building inhabitable; which meant the roof on the two story bluish structure, whatever it was, had to go; blown to smithereens. If the building collapsed, oh well. Jason had at least ordered everyone rounded up and into the open before setting fire to homes and stalls.

Ray wanted him back, wanted to throw a punch in the hopes he could catch Jason off guard enough to render him manageable until they could safely load his ass onto the chopper. But then he re-saw Clay, tied down spread-eagle on his belly, atop a table in a dirty hovel and he ordered the pilot to hold steady.

Sonny and Trent remained kneeling in the open door of the chopper, providing cover fire for Jason. Where they found the ammo, Ray could only guess, and he didn't care. They weren't supposed to harm, let alone kill civilians, but when those same civilians protected one of their own by remaining silent over the whereabouts of a taken, kidnapped Seal – their Seal – destroying their shelter, livelihoods and way of life, was just fine by Ray.

The children who had been forcefully taken from screaming mothers remained unharmed and would eventually overcome their fear and make their way back to the village that was home to the market where Clay had disappeared. What they would eat and where they would bathe and find shelter from the harsh climate was none of Ray's concern. They could get off their lazy asses and round up the chickens and goats and cows the team had set free and scattered.

Raining hell down upon citizens of the village and patrons of the market was acceptable, blowing up buildings and destroying homes was acceptable, the slaughter of innocent, defenseless animals was not. Jason had even spared the well in the center of the market where all the residents drew water because he simply couldn't justify poisoning helpless animals. The village was lucky they had farm animals, or Jason would have ordered the well poisoned.

Ray fidgeted. He wanted Jason on the chopper and the chopper airborne so he could grill Trent about Clay. He and Brock had been the two to cut the kid free and carry him outside. For the life of him, Ray could not recall if the kid had been fully dressed, armor and helmet and all. He doubted it, the kid had been gone nearly thirty plus hours. No way in hell, he'd been served tea and regaled with local folklore.

Brock had ended up on the chopper with Clay, how, Ray didn't know, but Jason had somehow managed to convey permission for Brock to go with the kid, or Brock wouldn't have gone. At least Clay wasn't alone. Wouldn't wake up disoriented with strangers, having no idea where he was. That was something.

God, I beg you, please let that kid be okay. Everything I got ain't gonna be enough to manage Jason. So, please, we'll take him bruised and broken, beaten and abused, just don't let this be a life-threatening or career-ending injury. Okay God? We good?

The blue structure Jason had set his sights on was now engulfed in flames. How the hell had he managed that?! People were running about, some screaming, some sobbing, others huddling in corners, having sought cover. For what good, Ray couldn't fathom. The small village destroyed, the market gone, Jason ran for the chopper that, seeing him running pell-mell towards them, began to lift off.

Good ole Jason. Wouldn't ask his team to endanger themselves on his suicide mission, but wouldn't argue when they agreed to do so on their own either. Ray would follow the man anywhere, for any reason without question but, Lordy, could he cheerfully throttle his team chief right now.

Ray and the two medics on board reached to grab any part of Jason they could touch and together, the three hauled him onto the chopper and into safety. Once they saw their boss sprawled across Ray's lap, obviously alive, Sonny and Trent ceased their relentless fire and pulled themselves back from the open door. Then they sat and waited.

Ray shook his head. They'd only been shooting to keep residents in hiding to prevent anyone from attempting to stop Jason.

The chopper was loud, making reasonable conversation impossible. Still, Jason was determined to question Trent and Ray made no attempt to cut him off. He wanted answers as well and waiting until they reached base and landed wasn't acceptable. They wouldn't know details of course, Trent wouldn't have had time to check the kid over thoroughly, but he could at least tell them if Clay had been breathing when he and Brock had cut him loose from the table.

"TALK!" Jason cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. "HE DRAWING BREATH?"

Trent tapped his heart and nodded. Ray blew his breath out, unaware he'd been holding it until he realized he was dizzy. So, the kid was alive. How much so, remained unknown. They'd be landing soon. Within minutes actually. They'd have their questions answered then.

Except they didn't.

When they landed, they were greeted with weapons pointed at their face by MP's bigger than Jason, relieved of their weapons and escorted to guarded barracks. Jason wisely remained quiet and complied without complaint. His men of course, followed his lead. They weren't cuffed nor were they denied water or access to soap and water. There were even small ham sandwiches on a table with various cookies, so their comfort was being seen to. Jason ignored the food but accepted the water, so his team did the same.

They were allowed to remain together and once left alone, the single door to the room locked, free to talk to one another.

"Spill." Jason rounded on Trent, but not in anger, in anticipation of bad news.

"He was breathing." Trent replied. "Not a dead weight, but unwilling to walk under his own power."

"Or unable." Sonny muttered.

"And fully dressed?" Ray questioned. "Full gear?"

Trent nodded, absently scratching his beard. "But not right. Like he'd been undressed and whoever put him back in his clothes didn't know how to do it properly."

"What the hell sense does that make?" Sonny demanded.

All four sat at the table, replaying the rescue scene over and over mentally. Someone would say something, remember a detail and toss it out. One by one, they upgraded from water to coffee, exhaustion slowing their train of thought and weighing them down.

"And he didn't cry out in pain?" Sonny asked for the umpteenth time. "Nothing?"

"No." Trent once again replied. He was tired, his mind was sludge and he simply couldn't process that one little detail that tugged at the corner of his mind until he kicked the table in frustration, upsetting more than one cup of coffee.

Ray gritted his teeth. Boy, he wanted to reach out and shake the daylights back into Trent. This sitting around, doing nothing was driving them all crazy. And it was deliberate, they all knew that. Punishment. And it was working.

"What the fuck are we all sitting here waiting for?" Sonny growled. Jason was silently, calmly using paper towels to absorb spilt coffee. "Outta kick the door down and go find the kid."

"Eric." Jason put a hand on Trent's shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

Wow, okay, so Jason was calling their unit's commander by first name. Ray shredded an Oreo. Tread carefully, proceed with caution, enter territory at your own risk.

"Let's walk through this again." Ray paced and found a small fridge under a desk and opened it to find…beer. Good, they could all use a hit right now. He removed all 12 cans, set them in the middle of the table and took a seat. "He was in enemy hands for roughly 36 hours. Taken yesterday, early afternoon."

"Found tied to a table late this afternoon."

A tab popped and the sound of three more echoed throughout the room. Once Jason accepted the beer, so did the others.

"Face down."

"Full combat gear."

And just like that, Trent was hit over the head with a two by four. He stumbled, seated in his chair, beer half way to his mouth. Suddenly, he could see the entire rescue scene clear as day. Brock had cut the cable ties securing Clay's wrists to the legs of the table he laid on. Trent had hauled him off it. While Clay's knees had locked, he'd crumpled to the floor and Brock had simply tossed the kid over his shoulder. They'd made their way out of the hut, Trent back to back with Brock as they walked. They'd gone directly to the chopper…..the crew inside had reached for Clay and Trent had helped hoist the kid off Brock's shoulder and into their waiting hands. Those hands had grabbed for shoulders and straps, going under Clay's arms and Trent had boosted the kid's legs and his feet….his bare feet.

"His boots." Trent set his beer down carefully. "Jace…..he didn't have any boots on. The kid was barefoot."

Silence.

Bare feet. Soft. Vulnerable. Sensitive.

"Form of torture." Ray acknowledged.

"Primitive." Sonny complained. "Also barbaric."

"Those people weren't soldiers." Jason reasoned. "All they knew was they had an American soldier dropped into their lap. Have fun at will."

"Kid did his job." Sonny growled. "Dickless desk jockey returned unharmed."

"You let Brock go with him." Ray said suddenly. "Against protocol."

Jason waved him off. What about this entire debacle had been protocol? SEAL's didn't go with their own wounded. They loaded them up and sent them off, maybe later thought to ask their commander how their team member fared. But this was his team, and he did things differently.

He was tired, wired, on edge, ready to blow, but he wasn't alone and he didn't only have himself to worry about. When was the last time any of them had actually slept? Eaten? Had a meal? Hell, he hadn't even laid down last night. His team had, but no one had slept. He wasn't hungry, felt ill at the mere thought of chewing and swallowing, but he knew his team wouldn't eat the offered sandwiches unless he did.

"Kid's cocky." Jason bit into a sandwich. Well, bit it in half….two bites and it was gone, they were that small. Once he actually tasted food, his stomach growled in appreciation and demanded more. "He needs to be knocked down a peg or two, but by us, no one else, 'cause he's ours." He reached for another sandwich and this time, three hands reached for one as well. "Ain't no one gonna hurt that kid and get away with it."

"You think ole Burns will come through?" Sonny asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth in lieu of a napkin. He was dirty, covered in sand, hell, he was chewing it and wanted a shower, a bed and Clay within his sight.

"He will." Jason said confidently. He knew Eric better than all of them. Eric would defend their decision to retrieve Clay even if it came to a court martial. "He just needs time."

So, they sat and ate sandwiches they didn't want but their bodies required: Each mentally chewing over torture of feet; each wanting an internet connection to research it; each wishing they could remember more about it; each mentally flogging themselves for not paying better attention in the class that discussed ways and various methods of torture and how to cope with it. All the while not knowing what was all wrong with their cocky, mouthy, conceited kid who they all wanted to see and all wanted back.

Well, they had him back. Jason had seen to that. He was back on base or in a military approved hospital somewhere, but he wasn't back with them. And until he was, no one would get any sleep. Or rest. Or peace.

"Think they'll let us see him?" Trent finally gave voice to the question they all wanted to ask.

"Not procedure." Ray said quietly.

No, procedure, policy, protocol would simply be served by telling them Clay was alive and sent home or to rehab or somewhere out of their reach until recovered. They wouldn't know what he'd gone through, wouldn't know what he'd suffered, wouldn't know if more villagers deserved their homes burned to the ground or another market destroyed.

"Fuck rules and procedures." Sonny flared, yet remained seated. A moment later, he flung his plate off the table with a flick of his wrist and threw the empty beer can at the wall. "Fuck all this."

The door didn't open. No one called the phone sitting on a desk. The walls closed in, air became thick and still they could do nothing but wait.

***000***

Brock was at a loss. He didn't know what to do. Hell, he didn't even know where the hell he was; some kind of hospital or clinic, where the nurses and staff were all foreign and no English was spoken. He couldn't tell who might be a doctor or where they'd taken Clay off to.

He'd gotten off the chopper and had been promptly apprehended. He hadn't fought, for the two MP's with iron clad grips on his arms had followed the stretcher carrying Clay into some building at the end of the lot where the chopper had set down. Once inside, he'd been shown to a windowless room and locked inside it.

Four walls and two doors didn't take long to explore. One door was locked, the one that led out of the room, and the other opened to a bathroom which consisted of a toilet and sink. Brock took advantage of the hot water and soap and washed up best he could. When he returned to the room, he sat down at the table and ate the sandwiches that had been on the table he hadn't seen before.

He chewed and swallowed and considered his options. There was bottled water – cold – on the table and he quickly finished one. He could bang on the door until the skin on his fist burst and bled. He could kick and scream until he was hoarse but he knew no one would come. So he ate, paced, stared out the doors window into the hallway and waited.

Some time had passed when the door opened and two hospital staff entered. Neither spoke English, didn't attempt to communicate and made their intentions quite clear. He was to sit and offer no resistance while they examined him for injury.

So he did.

The exam finished, they gave him a bottle of eye drops and left, leaving him alone again. What he really wanted was a tooth brush, tooth paste and deodorant. He ate a cookie.

"God." he bowed his head in prayer. "Please let the team arrive safely at base and I'm begging here, please let Clay be ok."


	3. Chapter 3

He was being pushed on a gurney that was wheeled so fast, the walls whizzed by, upsetting his already upset equilibrium. His stomach rebelled and he puked all over the sheet. The smell of vomit, the speed he was moving, the wavering walls had him shaking and moaning and then he was in a room, the lights so bright and harsh, he cried, burying his face in the pillow. He was lifted and laid on a clean table. Someone bathed his face, his hair was wet, cleaning him up. More hands pushed and rolled him one way, then the other. Another exam much like the one given to him on the chopper.

Personal dignity and space and shyness over bodily needs and functions didn't exist in the company of team members and a hospital was no different. His boxer briefs were cut off and the exam continued. Oh Christ, his feet fucking hurt. They were on fire…and no amount of flailing, jerking, kicking or screaming relieved either the pressure or the pain.

He was given ice chips and he forgot about the evil tweezers plucking and picking bits of glass and gravel and sand or whatever out of a thousand little cuts and scrapes on the bottoms of his feet. For a bit anyway. His back wasn't any too happy with him either.

He let his cheek rest against the rough sheet, suddenly too weak and too tired to protest or resist any longer. Through one blurry eye, he saw the glint of a needle hovering near the tube that led to the needle in his arm and that was it…..he knew no more.

***000***

His nose twitched. It was such a small movement, Clay figured no one would notice and he wouldn't catch a slap on the bottoms of his feet for daring to move. Because that stung like a mother-fucker and he didn't like it. But once it started twitching, it simply would not stop. It ignored his commands to do so and he quelled rising panic over its continued disobedience. Though tied tightly to a table – his hands had gone numb and his shoulders ached from being stretched to opposite sides of the table – he could move, even slightly raise his head, so if he wanted to, he could turn his face to the table's surface and abuse his nose for its betrayal until it listened to orders.

Yeah, but doing so, would defeat the whole purpose of not moving and letting his captors know he was awake. His sense of smell was his first sense to return and he finally realized all the twitching was his noses' way of alerting him to the fact he didn't smell sweat and coriander, a popular spice in Afghanistan.

His hearing quickly followed his ability to smell and returned so forcibly, his head reeled from the sensation of all the clanging and beeping and buzz of activity. He winced, moving his head away from the noise in his ear and a hand halted his movement by placing a palm on his forehead.

A voice spoke in a language he couldn't identify, which was odd. He spoke several languages, including the local dialect of the country he was in. But all he could determine was the voice was not threatening. It was calm and soothing and he was able to remain mostly calm.

Finally, reluctantly, he blinked his eyes opened and gave them time to agree to his request for focus. They were taking their time to comply so he let them wander about the room. Blurry they may be, but he could still kinda see. A hospital room. And the annoying beep in his ear came from some kind of monitor, from which ran a cord that ended on a clip attached to one of his fingers. So, okay, he was safe. Least, he thought he was. Nothing was familiar. Nothing looked like the clinic he was used to seeing on base.

Unease began to swirl in his belly and he struggled to keep it at bay. Chances were he'd been taken to a hospital after rescue…..he frowned, thinking, remembering….yes, rescue. Brock and Trent carrying him. Jason and Ray shouting in the distance. Sonny going all Rambo. The chopper. The medic's. Brock again, all brown eyes and hair peering down at him in concern. Oh-oh, that couldn't be good. SEAL members didn't show concern. They didn't accompany wounded members on flights to hospitals. They did, however, rescue kidnapped SEAL members. Though, usually not from their own team.

So then, yeah, he was in a hospital.

He was in so much trouble.  
Sonny was going to beat the shit out of him.  
Jason was going to kill him.

The door opened and all kind of hospital personnel poured in. Either the monitor had given him away or he was being surveyed by camera. Either way, they knew he was awake. They came at him with stethoscopes, thermometers, feeling for a pulse in his wrist, his throat, his other wrist. The blood pressure cuff on his arm inflated. Everyone talked at once, but not to him. Activity swirled around him and only then, did he realize he was lying on his left side.

Panic at the memory of being tied face down on a table prompted the decision to fight and flee. Hands reached to hold him down but he flailed, arms flinging to strike anyone, man or woman, within hitting distance. The voices around him rose in excitement, one commanding, the others compliant and though they worked to hold him down, no one was brutal.

"Easy son." A man's voice in perfect English was dominate. "No one here means you harm."

Clay soon found his body wasn't willing to carry on with the struggle and he soon lay still, quiet but for heaving ,heavy panting.

"We don't want to keep you sedated." The voice continued. "You've been injured."

Duh.

But he couldn't calm down. He'd never been captured before. Had never experienced captivity or torture or the fear of the unknown. He didn't know these people. Didn't know where he was. What had happened. What was going to happen. Why was in a hospital unknown to him? Why not the usual clinic? Why was he on his side? Where were his feet? Why was he being held down? Why, why, why?

The sheet was pushed aside….oh, he was naked. A cold, wet wipe raised goosebumps and bam, a needle pierced his hip and everything became even more confusing but the fought the encroaching darkness off.

"Brock?" he groaned.

***000***

Brock had no idea who much time had passed. His watch was missing. They could keep him here as long as they wanted to. Whoever they were. Didn't matter, Jason would come. Jason always came.

The door opened and a man in a lab coat over native garb stood in the doorway. He beckoned and stood aside, waving Brock out the door. Brock casually moved around the table, keeping it between him and the door. Upended, it would provide cover if needed. A broken leg would provide a weapon.

"No fear." The man said with a heavy accent, his pronunciation of the English words difficult to follow. "He say come."

He who? Clay?

Brock threw all caution to the wind and joined the man at the door with a haste his tired, sleep-deprived body objected to. The bright lights of the hallway momentarily blinded him but he squinted against the pain and followed the man up a hall, down a corridor and around a corner until they stopped in front of a door. Brock hadn't seen one American on their walk. All people they had passed were natives.

The man spread his hands in a plea. "No escape."

Escape? And leave Clay? No way in hell. Not a chance. Not gonna happen. When he left, and he would, he'd be taking Clay with him. The man waited until Brock finally nodded his agreement, then stepped aside and allowed Brock access to the door.

Good God, was he ever going to catch heat for this. From their superiors, for breaking all kinds of rules by going and remaining with an injured team member. From his team, for babysitting. From his friends for playing nursemaid. But he didn't care, to get him out of the hospital room, they'd have to bodily drag him.

He opened the door and stepped into the room in time to catch Clay in his arms before he crumpled to the floor in an ungainly heap.

Clay was yelling to be let go. No one was using brutal strength to keep him down and the gentle hold meant he'd been able to fight his way off the bed. And he did. Oh, he had every intention of hitting the floor with both feet and running, but he didn't. He hit the floor and promptly collapsed in Brock's arms instead.

Everyone in the room reacted like he was going to take Clay and run away. The chatter rose to a loud, excited din. Arms reached to take Clay from him. Someone guarded the door. Hands waved at the bed. Heads bobbed. And Brock, exhausted and bone-wearily emotionally shot to hell, returned Clay to the bed, and stepped aside to watch the hospital crew get the poor kid settled.

It didn't take long and soon, all activity and excitement in the room went poof and Brock was alone in the room with Clay. He studied the kid who slept on his side without moving or discontent, likely heavily sedated. Brock walked around the bed to see his back. He winced at the sunburn. Though treated, the kid would blister badly. He'd been staked out in the sun for some time. And tied to a table. His feet had at some point, been tied together. His body had to ache from being contorted for so many hours.

So many questions.

Brock pulled up a chair and assumed a sprawled position, head back, feet on the bed, ankles crossed, hands folded on his belly. And did nothing but watch the team's kid sleep.

***000***

The phone on the desk rang.

Jason looked at Ray. Ray looked at Jason. Sonny pushed to his feet. Trent sat up from his pallet on the floor.

No pounding or shouting had brought anyone to the door since they'd been locked within. This was the first contact of any kind they'd had since arrival.

"Answer it." Sonny ordered.

Jason pushed the speaker feature, not touching the receiver. "Hayes."

"Jace?"

"Brock?" Trent was on his feet and over the desk to the phone. "Brock? You there?"

"Trent? This speaker? Everyone there?"

"Where the hell are you?" Sonny demanded.

"Hospital."

"Spenser?" Ray asked.

"Breathing."

"Well?" Sonny demanded. "And? What?"

"I dunno. No one here speaks English. No one will talk to me. Hell, I don't know anything."

Jason held a hand up for silence and his three comrades fell silent.

"Brock, you okay?"

"Me? I'm fine Boss. Treating me okay here. Just gave me the phone. Been here awhile and they just let me see him."

"You're with him?" Sonny blurted out, ducking his head when Jason gave him the evil eye.

"Yeah, he's sleeping. I think they sedated him."

Jason was quiet, warring with the rules he was supposed to follow as team leader versus what he, as a man and friend, wanted to do.

"Tell us what you know." Jason said finally. Trent, Ray and Sonny bumped fists.

"Not much. He has a bad sunburn. So bad, they won't lay him on his back. His feet are a mess."

"How?" Jason pressed.

"Skin flayed off with a knife. Sliced up with a razor. Not deep, shallow."

"Arch's beaten?"

"Yeah. He's been tied up for a while. So, he hurts. It's all I know Jace. That's from the medic's on the chopper."

"That it?" Jason asked.

"Yeah, has his tongue, both ears, all fingers and nails, all his toes, no broken bones."

Jason nodded, fingers steepled against his forehead. Anyone on his team would submit to his authority. No one would openly defy his orders. What he told Brock would be obeyed. He had no doubts. But he couldn't, wouldn't, ask the man to risk arrest or stripping of rank by doing something stupid.

"Bring him home." Jason ordered. Home was where ever the team was assembled.

"Right." translation? Stay with him, take care of him, do what was needed to keep him calm and feeling safe.

And the call was disconnected.

***000***

Clay floated. His eyes didn't want to work properly. Then again, neither did his hands. Or his body. He was on his side and he didn't want to be. He wanted to roll over but was stopped by something in his way. He wasn't pinned in, just propped against something that shouldn't be there.

"Chill." Brock commanded gently. "You sun burned your back pretty badly. Trust me, you don't want to lay on it."

Well then, if Brock said it, it must be true. Brock wouldn't tease him when he was flat on his back on a hospital bed, would he? Well, he kinda wasn't flat, but…aww, fuck it.

His nose told him someone other than Brock was in the room. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"She's okay." Brock told him quietly.

Well then, okay.

The pillow under his cheek was fluffed, the sheet over his legs adjusted. That stupid thermometer was in his ear again. A straw was held to his limps and the female humming must be directions to sip. He did. Not water. Something sweet, but flat. Brock told him to swallow, so he did but he didn't like it and his grimace made Brock chuckle.

The arm he was laying on was numb, the crook of his elbow tight. When he moved his free fingers to touch it, his hand was slapped down. Ow! Since when did nurses slap?

"IV." Brock informed him. "Dehydrated."

Wait, was Brock holding the straw? Nah, couldn't be.

Being hooked to an IV meant he couldn't leave at will. He wanted the needle out of his arm but Brock smacked his hand a second time and he gave up on the idea and let it alone.

"How you feeling kid?" Brock asked.

That was just it, Clay didn't know. He was drugged. He'd been hurt, that much he knew. But not how badly, or even where. But this was Brock, not Sonny or Jason and Clay was so tired and sore and out of it, he just didn't care anymore.

"Not so good." He mumbled.

"Don't worry about it." Brock slapped his hip. He would have clapped him on the shoulder or back, but was afraid the friendly gesture would be too much for the kid to handle, what with the sun burn he had. He didn't want to set the kid to screaming.

"I hafta stay?"

"Fraid so." Brock said.

"How long?"

Brock had no idea. Had no idea of the severity of the kid's injuries, but he couldn't very well admit that.

"Until Jason comes to get you."

That seemed to satisfy him and he dropped off to sleep.

Brock dozed on and off in the chair. Paced the room. Ate a meal a nurse brought. Asked after the man who had retrieved him and brought him to Clay, but either no one understood him or the man wasn't to be found.

Clay was uncomfortable, not at all content to remain on his side. Even in his sleep, whether drug induced or natural, he wanted to roll onto his back, which the body-length pillows on either side of him prevented him from doing. It made him irritable and cranky.

He woke up once, coming up on his elbow, whining about needing to piss. Brock stepped out of the room while he was being tended and found a vending machine, staring longingly at the Snickers bar within. Someone walking by handed him a coin and went on his way. Brock got the Snickers.

And still, he knew nothing.

Soon, it was morning or noon or some fucking time and Brock slept in the chair next to Clay's bed, neck stiff, body sore, mental endurance past its limits. A noise in the hall brought him awake but Clay slept on. He sat up, rolling his head to crack his neck when the door opened and Jason entered.

Brock was never so happy to see anyone in his life as he was his boss. He didn't care. He was out of the chair and on his feet before Jason cleared the doorway.

"Jason."

Jason didn't hesitate, hugging Brock like a life line. Brock didn't pull away either.

"You look like hell." They both said, then bared teeth in a tired grin.

Neither were shaved or showered. Neither had changed clothes in days. Neither had had any decent sleep. Both were worn down and weary with worry and exhaustion. Neither had eaten more than small sandwiches and chocolate or cookies. Both needed mouth wash and deodorant.

"Can you get some answers?" Brock asked.

"Eric's trying." Jason answered. "They wouldn't let the others come."

"Any idea what's going on? Where we are? Who these people are?"

Jason shook his head. "No one is telling me anything. I'm on the shit list." he eyed his youngest team member. "How's he doing?"

"Still sedated. He comes out of it, but won't stay on his side, so they put him back under."

"IV?"

"Fluids."

"You sure?"

"No."

"You think IV pain meds?"

"No."

Jason nodded. "Ok."

"How'd you get here?"

"Eric drove."

"Everyone holding it together?"

Jason shrugged. Brock nodded. "Anyone here speak English?"

"No. Guy who took me to Clay could say a word or two." he didn't add he'd been taken to Clay because the kid had asked for him. "Haven't seen him since. Where's Commander Blackburn?" Jason might call him Eric, but that was above Brock's pay grade.

"Raising hell."

And the door opened and Eric strode in with an Asian male doctor Brock had not laid eyes on in all the hours he'd been in the hospital.

"Gentleman. I'm Dr. Chang." He spoke flawless English.

"Of course you are."

Oh-oh. Brock knew that tone. Where was Ray when you needed him?

Actions


	4. Chapter 4

"Jason." Eric warned. "Step into the hallway." He pulled the door to Clay's room closed, leaving the four men in the hallway just outside the door.

Jason crossed his arms over his chest and stared.

Dr. Chang was well used to belligerent military assholes in his face and he stood his ground, staring right back. And it became a contest. But Jason didn't move, didn't blink, didn't inhale and finally, it was Dr. Chang who shuffled a step back and nodded his head in well, submission.

"I'm tired, I'm dirty, I smell and I'm pissed off." Jason said. "I'm separated from my team, I'm in deep shit and I'm in no mood to be jerked around." He tilted his head slightly to one side. "And I'm not happy."

Oh, no, you certainly aren't, Dr. Chang thought, darting a glance at Commander Blackburn.

"Yes, well, I'm sure I know nothing about that." Dr. Chang said hastily when no help came from Eric. He held out a file folder that Jason ignored. Erick took it. "I'm here to inform you of…." He glanced down at the single sheet of paper he still held. "Officer….."

"Clay." Jason spat. "His name is Clay. He's one of many patients. I get that. I don't need you to tell me his name. I need you to tell me how bad he's hurt."

Dr. Chang frowned in irritation, ready to snap back – why, because you have a mission you need him for? – in response to the tone directed at him. But Eric was actually reading papers in the file, so he took a deep breath, removed his glasses and steadied his hands by folding them and stowing them away in an inside pocket of his white lab coat.

Honest and direct simple words were being demanded, honest and direct words would be given.

"He's dehydrated. His back and right shoulder are severely sun burned, his left shoulder less so. He blistered. He's running a fever. He's going to hurt and be uncomfortable for several days."

"His feet?"

"Again, are painful. He won't be wearing shoes for a good week."

"Nothing broken, nothing punctured, nothing violated?"

Brock looked at the ceiling, the wall, the floor, out the window. Anywhere but at Jason. Gut-punched by Jason's casual question about….. _violation._ He got the need for the question, he did. The local bastards had a reputation for sadistic torture. His vision wavered and he clenched his hands into fists. Don't let me hit the floor. Please don't let me hit the floor.

"No."

"It's all in here Jason." Eric said. "You'll want to read this."

"He on any IV pain meds?"

"No."

"Then load him up and we'll go."

Go? Eric's head snapped up. Oh boy, he should have seen that coming. "Whoa there Jason, hold up." He handed Brock the file and stepped between Jason and Dr. Chang. "I got permission to bring you here, I didn't get it to remove Spenser."

"He's not ready to leave our care." Dr. Chang protested.

"You said he was good to go." Jason shot back.

"I said no such thing." Dr. Chang sputtered, stunned that Jason had come to such a conclusion.

"I didn't come here to say 'what's up Doc, how's the kid.'" Jason stepped around Eric and began to steadily stalk the poor doctor who began to back step, a clear sign of nervousness. "I came to get the kid and take them both home and you're not standing in my way."

"That's enough Jason." Eric again stepped between the two. He so didn't need this now. Why-oh-why, hadn't he argued harder to bring Ray with them?

Jason continued to ignore Eric's attempts to verbally rein him in and evaded his half-hearted body blocks to prevent physical contact with the doctor, all the while he stalking the doctor in circles, taunting and threatening the poor man.

"He requires a psyche evaluation. Counseling. You can't just demand his release!"

Brock went limp against the wall, eyes closed. It was all he could do not to sink to the floor. He wanted to read the file. Wanted a hot meal, hot water, hot shower. Wanted clean clothes. His pathetic bunk in his quarters. Sonny's snores lulling him to sleep. His eyes hurt, his head was killing him and _still,_ the emotional punch to his gut over Jason asking that fucking question about the kid being violated hadn't settled and made him want to puke on his shoes.

"Jace." Eric said quietly. Brock was pale, and green, even grey, trembling against the wall, looking like he was either going to puke or pass out.

Jason turned at the nickname. He didn't tolerate it from anyone unless it was a stressful or tense situation, much like this one. But no, Eric wouldn't use it just to call him off a clueless doctor.

Eric nodded at Brock and Jason scowled. Not happy with the diversion.

"We didn't get any more rest than he did." Jason blew his commander off and turned away. "Suck it up Reynolds."

"You weren't alone." Eric shot back, his tone sharp. Handling an out-of-control Jason was not easy. At all. Couldn't be done. But he could be distracted.

That comment brought Jason around, his attention successfully diverted. Eric had a point. How long had Brock waited alone, no one to talk to, knowing nothing – not how Clay was, not where'd he been taken, or by who…..not even if the rest of the team had returned to base all in one piece, or if at all – until he'd been allowed out of a locked room and taken to at least see Clay?

"Take him and go." Eric said. "Join the others."

"Leave Clay here?" Jason barked out a harsh. "With him?" he jerked a thumb in Dr. Chang's direction.

"With me?" Eric tested Jason's willingness to work with him with a sigh. "Work with me here Jason. I'm trying."

Tired as he was, Brock didn't want to leave. Nope. Not until Clay woke up and could tell them what happened.

"You doping him?" Jason asked the doctor.

"Doping? No."

"You're keeping him sedated." Brock pushed off the wall and moved to stand beside Jason.

"We are." The doctor confirmed.

"Stop it."

"I beg your pardon?" the doctor floundered, once again stunned. "Now see here…." He began. "You are not coming into my hospital and giving me orders and you most certainly are not going to tell me how to treat and care for any of my patients."

So, puke it was going to be. Brock bolted.

"You can't drug him. I don't want him drugged." Jason jabbed the doctor in the chest with one finger. "Give him something for pain if he needs it, but stop doping him."

Dr. Chang drew himself up. Who was this ignorant shit to tell him how to treat his patient?! The hot-headed bossy asshole had some nerve and he wasn't going to stand and take it. "Commander Blackburn, I take offense at the treatment I'm being subjected to by this soldier. He cannot order me how to treat any patient in this hospital."

"He just did." Eric said and dismissed the doctor and turned as Brock returned, looking a bit more steady. "Brock, where's your gear?"

"Dunno."

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at the floor. He didn't get paid enough. He simply didn't. He loved his job. He did. And he loved his country. He cared about the men under his immediate command. And yet, he wondered how he always found himself in situations like these. Mostly likely because his team had the highest rate of successful, completed missions, and he was damn proud of it. But all the stress had given him an ulcer. No. No, that wasn't quite true. His ulcer was all Jason's fault.

"Straight back to base." He blew his breath out. "Your team was released to their barracks, join them there. You don't have permission to leave. You're confined until further notice."

Jason took the file that Brock still held and slung an arm around his shoulders, leading him out and leaving Eric behind.

***000***

"Ellis." she answered her cell. She was curled up on the sofa, lack of decent sleep made her seek comfort from the TV. The information that had come down the line of command on Clay, was not enough to satisfy any of them and she wasn't herself. She wanted Jason safely back on base and until that happened, the kind of peace that led to sleep wasn't going to found. Dressed in sweatpants, over-sized hoodie, hair in a pony-tail, she padded about barefoot and braless, because who cared? She was off duty and in her own quarters. She didn't expect visitors and there were no missions in her immediate future.

"I need you here." Eric sniped briskly. Either their connection was faulty, or he was distracted because his voice was hollow and off.

"Say what?"

"I'm up to my ears in Jason attitude Mandy, I need help here."

"Call Ray."

"I did."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"I was able to divert Jason's attention by returning him to base with Brock."

"How's Brock doing?"

"Guy's wiped. Nothing about any of this has been remotely by the book. Rules, regulations, protocol, procedures, all shot to hell."

"I'll do what I can to help." Mandy offered sympathetically. "Is Jason confined to quarters? I can invite him over here and….." she sure could use the company.

"No. No. No. Here Mandy, I need your help here."

"Aaah….okay." she said slowly, not at all understanding. "And here's where?"

"I have a meeting with Admiral Brochin, Jason's in some serious shit."

"Oh, yeah, sure okay. " she nodded and stopped listening, mentally going through her closet on what to wear. Nothing too dressy, nothing sassy, nothing too casual. This couldn't wait until morning? Then again Brochin, who was high in command, was responsible for Dawson's visit to base.

"…..Davis as well."

"I'm sorry, come again?"

"Maybe Davis will come with you, give you someone to talk to."

"Uh…..what?" a logistics specialists in a meeting with some level Admiral over the discipline of the elite six of a twenty-one member SEAL team? "Eric, are you ok? You haven't been drinking have you? I know it's been stressful these last…"

"Humvee should be at your door."

"Humvee?" now she was just stupidly repeating shit, because seriously, she hadn't a clue. She didn't need a Humvee to cross the base to attend some impromptu meeting. Yet, when she pulled the curtain aside and looked out the window, sure enough, an armed MP stood next to the open back passenger door of an idling Humvee. Well, damn. She let the curtain fall.

"Too far to walk." Eric was saying.

"Eric, you aren't making any sense. Have you gotten any sleep? Is it your ulcer?"

"It's not complicated Mandy." He uncharacteristically snapped. She pulled the phone from her ear and frowned at it. Of course, he couldn't see her, but still, she gave him a glare. "Will you come down here and sit with Spencer or not?"

"Will I do what? Sit with…?" she gave the phone a shake, touched her ear, tapped the table to make sure her hearing was accurate. "You want me to sit with Clay? Um…why?"

"Because he's in the FUCKING hospital. Because Brock's a FUCKING mess! Because Jason is FUCKING freaking out and I don't KNOW why and I don't KNOW how to fix it or HOW to handle HIM!" Eric yelled, bellowed really, into the phone. "This whole shit-show went sideways and I don't KNOW how to get them out of this mess Mandy! I don't KNOW what the FUCK to do!"

Mandy threw her phone into her purse and was out the door without another thought. She pounded on Lisa Davis' door and when she opened it, grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the waiting Humvee.

"Mandy!" Lisa squealed. "Hey! Let go! What are you doing?! Hey, whoa, I'm not going anywhere. I'm too tired for drinks."

"Get in." Mandy said as an MP held the back door open.

"I'm in my pajamas." Lisa protested, able to halt her forward progress now that Mandy had encountered the obstacle that was the Humvee.

"And I'm not?"

Lisa's eyes widened as she took notice of Mandy's attire. "You don't have any shoes on."

"Don't need them."

Lisa's heart stopped dead. Dread curled her toes. She supported her weight by bracing a palm against the Humvee.

"What happened?" she got out. Barely. "Who?" she was choking, couldn't breathe, couldn't see.

"Clay's alone, Brock's a mess, Jason's freaking out, the teams in trouble, and Erick doesn't know how to get them out."

She snapped to attention. "Gimme 10 seconds to get us slippers."

Why that was all so important, Lisa didn't know. She just knew they couldn't show up anywhere bare foot.

The ride was short, Mandy filled Lisa in on the short phone call from Eric while both women brushed their hair into acceptable pony-tails and adjusted their clothing best they would.

"Jason agreed to leave? Did he get answers?" Lisa wondered, Mandy shrugged. " Jesus Mandy, what the hell's going on?"

***000***

Jason opened the door to the barracks shared by those known as the Elite Six, and let Brock enter first. Trent rolled over and sat up. Sonny sat up and jumped to the floor from his top bunk. Ray stood up and took the file folder from Brock's limp fingers.

"Showers." Ray ordered calmly. "Both of you." He let Sonny pluck the file folder from his hand. "Brock, hey man."

"I washed up." Brock mumbled grumpily, returning the hug before turning to rub the ears of Cerberus. "Hey girl, you miss me?"

"Showers." Ray said again. "I'll get sandwiches."

"Something ain't right here Ray." Jason began, sitting down to untie his boots. "No, don't tell me to shut up, don't say later, I gotta talk this out, get it straight. I gotta know."

"Hey!" Ray barked. "What's your motto? Team comes first."

"That's what I'm doing." Jason insisted. "Nothing makes sense. Why take the kid? Why keep him? Why hurt him like they did? There's so many ways to torture a guy Ray. And they had him. They did. An American. An American soldier. One of us. And they beat his feet? The fuck? They knew who they had. They did. They had to."

"You're ranting." Ray reached for the knot Jason had at some point in time made in his belt. "Let me." He slapped Jason's hands away from the tangled, frayed threads. "Shower. Food. Nap."

"You're not listening." Jason began, bewildered Ray was helping him undress. "What are you doing? I mean, why'd the dipshit even take him? I said no. I did. You need my permission to take a member of my team on a civilian outing and I didn't give it. I didn't. Why would he go? Kid never listens."

"You didn't tell him not to go. He obeyed orders from a superior. Can't fault him for that."

"Can to."

"Stop fighting me. Sonny, little help here?"

Sonny reluctantly set the folder on a table and came up behind Jason, hugging him tightly, effectively pinning his arms to his sides.

"Trent? You good? You got him?" Ray asked as he got Jason's belt unbuckled. "Stand still, Jesus dude. Cut me a break."

"We're good." Trent called and the dog followed he and Brock out.

Jason stopped babbling, falling quiet, mulling over in his mind what was bothering him and what he wanted to discuss with his men as he walked with Ray to the showers.

"Shower shoes." Ray called. "Use soap AND shampoo."

Jason washed, rinsed and washed again.

"All the sand Jason." Ray admonished. "Everywhere." for Jason had the habit of getting in the shower, getting wet, turning around a time or two and considering himself clean.

And he washed, rinsed and washed again. Man, the hot water felt so damn good. His motions were routine, mechanical as he dried off and accepted a toothbrush that had toothpaste on it. Aah, clean teeth.

"Rinse and spit." Ray handed him a cup of mouthwash.

"Kid looked awful." Jason toweled his hair. First swatting away the offer of Q-tips, then accepting them when Ray attempted to stick one in his ear for him. Sand really did get everywhere.

"He's being taken care of."

Jason shrugged.

"Don't put this on yourself. Don't you do that."

"He went."

"He didn't know not to."

"But I said no."

"He didn't know that."

"Some CIA shit doesn't have authority over him."

"Blackburn's Commander does."

"Then he fucked up."

"It could have been worse Jay. So much worse."

Jason nodded. "Kid's first taste of torture and it wasn't even because we lost him. That sucks."

Ray grinned, then chuckled. "Don't think he's gonna see it that way."

"I'm too old for rookies Ray. All attitude and cocky. Spenser's one obstinate son-of-a-bitch." He was quiet, getting dressed. "He's so young. When was the last time we had someone that young on the team? He's what? 25?"

"Same age. You were just younger." Ray ducked the snap of a wet towel with a chuckle. "He's tough Jason. He'll come through this and soon, we'll be teasing him about it. Come on, cold beer's waiting."


	5. Chapter 5

Brock was at the table eating, showed and dressed in clean clothes with wet hair when Jason returned to barracks. Odd, he didn't recall seeing Brock in the showers. Maybe he did need that nap.

"Feeling better?" Jason asked.

Better, but not right. Brock nodded anyway.

"You read this?" Sonny asked, waving a hand over the folder, fried leg of cold chicken in his fingers. "Pretty damned detailed."

"Glanced through it." Jason admitted. "Ride wasn't long. He's just off base. Airport hospital."

"Now, what do you think doesn't add up?" Trent asked. "Talk it out."

"Some desk jockey wants to go to a village market….. because he's a dick whose shit doesn't stink, he rates an escort from a SEAL."

"Chooses Clay, 'cause his ole man's a dick too."

"Dick gets back to base, our kid is missing."

"No one tells Jason."

"Everyone is too scared to tell Jason."

"So the kid is gone hours before we know it."

"And we waste a whole fucking night waiting for approval to go get him."

"They tied him to a table."

"They staked him in the sun for hours."

"Beat his feet."

"Flayed the skin off,"

"Sliced 'em to hell,"

"But didn't torture him further,"

"Because they were waiting for someone to come get him," Jason finished. "Jesus Christ, they fucking sold him."

"And didn't want him to escape."

"Had to deliver him all in one piece….nothing missing or broken."

"If he'd been taken by whoever was coming…bought him…..we'd never have gotten him back."

"Would never have seen him again."

"Or known what happened to him."

"All because he's blonde."

"So, we need to find what fucking religious sect wanted an American Soldier and was willing to pay a price high enough to get him pretty much unharmed."

***000***

"He looks so…..young." Mandy whispered. She sat with Lisa on the window seat across the room from Clay's bed. "Sixteen, maybe?" mop of hair nestled amongst white pillows, bangs damp from sweat, visible cheek flushed, yeah, he looked like a kid.

"So vulnerable." Lisa whispered back. "They're all so big and commanding in uniform, but stripped bare…."

"He needs a shave."

"He really would look sixteen."

"I've never seen him clean-shaven."

"Never knew men could have such long lashes."

"The guys okay?" Mandy opened a bag of M&M's and offered some to Lisa who held her hand out for Mandy to shake some into her palm.

"Chocolate?"

"I'm emotional."

"How much trouble are they in?"

Mandy was quiet. "You with them?"

"Always."

"Ever think you could get so attached to six men?"

"Team has twenty-one members." Lisa corrected.

"Six," she gave a gentle laugh. "That matter." She picked out red M&M's to eat first. "To me," she finished.

"Uh-huh. Don't let anyone hear you say that."

"The Commander had no right to override Jason's refusal to send Clay." Mandy said after a while. "Jason said no. It was a civilian outing and the outing went wrong and an American Soldier was taken. No one wants that to get out."

"So much about that so-called outing was wrong." Lisa agreed. "One escort? Almost think it was planned, a set-up."

"You'll hear some shit."

"Yeah." Lisa tilted her head when Clay stirred. He was facing them, still restricted to his left side. "Think they'll send him home for recovery?"

"Hard to say. See how the psyche evaluation goes."

A nurse was in every fifteen minutes on the dot. She changed the cool, soft cloth soaked in cool water on his back with a fresh one. Stuck a thermometer in his ear. He didn't like that. Shook his head and pulled away. Wrote on a chart and rehung the clipboard. Replaced the pitcher of water with a fresh one and departed. Once, when the bag feeding his IV had nearly dripped empty, she replaced it.

She smiled shyly at Mandy and Lisa, but never spoke.

"Taking good care of him." Lisa commented. "Can't believe I came here in my pajamas."

"I'm not wearing a bra." Mandy confessed with a giggle.

"That shirt's so big, no one will notice."

"Can you two…cackling hens…..get me some water?"

"Clay?" Lisa stood up and walked over to the bed. "Hey you, hi." Mandy stood up and slipped from the room.

"Hey." He sighed.

"How you feeling?"

"Eh."

Lisa poured water into a cup and stuck in a straw. "That good, huh. Here you go."

His tongue chased the straw until she used trapped it between two fingers and held it still. "Thanks." He huffed softly.

"Need anything?" Lisa set the cup aside when he refused anymore. "Anything I can do?"

"Help me roll over?"

"Other than that?"

"Time is it?"

"Going on 3 a.m." she pulled up a chair and sat down. "Been sleeping awhile."

"Remember some."

"They were sedating you."

"Not supposed to."

"They stopped." She said. "Jason had a fit. Cold? You can have a blanket."

He snorted. "I'm burning up." Jason?

"Fever. Pretty bad sunburn."

"Mmmm, the sun."

"Does that to a person, yeah." she agreed.

"Worst is….blisters will heal, I'll peel and not even get a suntan."

"Been there, huh?" Lisa could well believe as a kid, he'd been a towhead.

"What are you doing here?"

"Girls night out."

No, seriously, what are you doing here, Clay thought. His mind was still sludgy, he didn't recall what all had happened or in what proper order of events, but he knew he was in a hospital. And he knew wounded men were on their own when they were. Or, were supposed to be.

"Brock was here" he asked.

"Yeah, he had to go. They're confined to quarters." Lisa explained. "He came in on the chopper with you."

"He's hurt?" that revelation prompted action.

"Oh nononono!" she put a hand on his shoulder to still his attempts to sit up. "No, sorry, relax. He's fine. He just came in with you."

Clay frowned. "Why?"

"Well, because…..you know, I don't know."

"So, did I see Jason?"

Lisa chewed on her lip. Hmmmm, this could go one of two ways.

"You did." she admitted.

Clay closed his eyes, breath catching with wince.

"What's this about?" Mandy asked, crowding in next to Lisa to lean on the bed rails. "You feeling pain?"

"Jason." Lisa mouthed. Mandy nodded, understanding.

"How much trouble am I in?"

"You?" Mandy repeated surprised. "Trouble for what?"

Clay shrugged and grimaced when his skin pulled tight. He bit his lip with a groan, but couldn't stop the gasp. Sonofabitch! OW!

"Hey, none of that." Mandy scolded. "Need a nurse?"

"Why was Jason here?" he asked after he rode the wave pain out and could speak…..pant.

"He, uh, came for Brock." Mandy said. "The team's under arrest…..military arrest anyway."

Clay frowned. That didn't make any sense either. MP's would have retrieved Brock to put him under arrest.

"Why?"

Mandy and Lisa exchanged looks. Lisa shrugged. Mandy shrugged.

"They went after you." Mandy said. "When Dawson requested you as an escort to the village, Jason denied permission."

"What?"

"Permission had to be asked to be escorted by a SEAL six for a civilian mission. Jason didn't grant it. You were off limits."

"I didn't know."

"Jason should have told you." Lisa butted in.

"He should have." Mandy agreed. "But he didn't. That's on him. You did nothing wrong Clay. You obeyed Blackburn's Commander who ordered you to go."

"He knew Jason had said you couldn't go. You didn't. If you had, and then disobeyed Jason, well, you'd be on a flight home and off the team." Lisa said, offering him more water. He shook his head.

"Why?" Clay licked his lips, wishing maybe he hadn't refused the water.

"Why what?" Lisa offered again, holding the straw steady. This time he accepted the offer and drank.

"Why didn't he want me to go?"

"Not your job, you're the rookie, Dawson has a hard-on for your dad. It's Jason's job to protect you." Mandy shrugged. "Take your pick. They see you as theirs Clay, they aren't going to share you until they feel you're ready to be on missions without them."

"Huh?" what wasn't she saying?

"You're young, the youngest Jason has ever accepted on his team." Mandy adjusted the sheet. "That matters."

"Huh?"

Mandy sighed, locking her fingers together, still leaning on his bed rails. "Clay, you aren't expected to know everything about every town, village, city, country that you're sent to. That's my job. Jason's job is to assign you duties within your unit that you are best qualified for." she twisted a ring on her finger. "Those innocent 'markets' in villages in this area, such as the one you went to with Dawson are religious sects. Zealots."

He blinked at her.

"Blondes, Clay." Mandy said gently. "They kidnap and sell blondes. And you fetched a price so high, they were willing to take the risk. A blonde, American, Soldier."

"Anyway…you want this? Fruit juice I think." Lisa asked, breaking the somber moment. Yeah, no. It's sweet and flat and Brock had told him to swallow it. "No. okay." She sniffed the cup, took a sip, made a face. "Don't blame you. So, anyway, Dawson returned to base with his interpreter. Jason didn't know you'd gone to the market and they didn't tell him that you'd been taken."

"By the time they did, it was dark." Mandy took up the story. "Jason was furious,"

"Yeah, try livid."

"No talking him down then,"

"And then they told him he couldn't go after you."

"He was out of control by then. Even Ray gave up."

"Blackburn arrived….that's another long story…..took until dawn to get approval for the rescue mission, but Blackburn got it."

"But Dawson couldn't leave well enough alone, said it was more a recovery mission then rescue." Mandy shook her head. "Yeah, no holding Jason back after that snide comment."

Lisa giggled. "Knocked out the assholes tooth. One punch."

"Spun him around."

"Knocked him to the ground."

"Jason picked him by his tie."

"Threw him against the wall."

"Down on a desk."

"All up in his face."

"Didn't kill anyone though."

"Shot a few."

"Only in the legs."

"Priceless."

"You're giggling." Clay struggled to speak around a thick tongue. He was hot, his mouth was so dry he chewed cotton, and Navy women did not giggle.

"I'm emotional." Lisa quipped, Mandy giggled at the shared joke. "I'll cry I don't find humor."

Was he hurt that bad, Clay wondered? Must be, if Jason himself came to see him in the hospital. And the girls were giggling so they didn't cry.

"And Jason walked out. Guys fell in rank behind him and followed." Lisa shifted on the chair. It was not at all comfortable. "Jason took that village apart, destroyed the market, scattered the animals. No one would talk, the guys couldn't find you….." she could see Clay was fighting sleep. He could and would learn all later. "Trent and Brock cut you lose. Carried you to the chopper…..here we are."

"More to it." Clay murmured.

"Yeah, there is. We'll talk when you're feeling better."

"The team?" Clay was nauseated. The few sips of water threatening reappearance, "Everyone okay?"

"Tired is all." Mandy assured him. "I've seen them, they're good."

The nurse was back and Lisa and Mandy stepped out. They got curious looks while lingering in the hallway, but no one approached them. When they returned, Clay was on his belly, hugging a pillow, but still awake.

"Better now you rolled over?" Lisa asked. "You ok? Need anything?"

"Feel a little queasy. Gonna sleep a while."

Mandy offered Lisa more M&M's and they returned to the window seat.

***000***

Jason lay on his belly, hugging a pillow, headphones on, staring at the wall.

Sonny sat at the table, reading a magazine.

Brock slept.

Trent and Ray played cards on Ray's bunk.

Cerberus chewed on a bone.

A radio played classic rock songs, but otherwise the room was quiet. No one was talking.

The door opened and two MP's cleared the doorway of any threat – yeah, like there were any – then stood to either side for Admiral Brochin, Commander McCall and Lieutenant Commander Blackburn to enter. Eric stood slightly behind his two superiors and off to one side.

No one came to attention and the extended silence became thick. Jason finally removed his headphones, rolled off the bed and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Ray joined him. Then Trent. Sonny shook Brock awake and they fell into line. The dog sat beside Jason and bared her teeth with a warning growl.

"Master Chief Hayes."

"Admiral." He inclined his head, the only show of respect he was willing to display.

"Disciplinary action against Bravo Team Six, one through five will be implemented starting today, at the time I vacate these barracks." The Admiral said. "The following members…." And he went on to mentation their names and rank. "….are hereby confined to quarters, for the full term of one month. You will be off grid with no outside communication, in this barrack for one week. Your families will be notified via email that you will be unavailable for the duration of your confinement. Meals will be provided. Medical if required. Any request to leave will be denied. This sentence is not open for negotiation. Good Day."

Silence. Sonny fidgeted. Trent shuffled his weight from foot to foot. Ray bit his tongue. A month? That was three weeks longer than they were supposed to be deployed in this hell hole. No outside communication? No Skype, no Face Time, not even a phone call.

"A request," Jason smirked. "Sir," He added with sarcasm after a pause.

The Admiral warred with unspoken thoughts, then finally nodded.

"Spencer." Jason dropped all manners of civility. "Here. With us."

"No." The Admiral said promptly. "He requires medical care, a psyche evaluation, debriefing."

"There are five of us." Jason said tersely, hands clenching into fists behind his back, but his posture remained relaxed. "We are capable of taking care of him."

Eric poked his Commander in his back, the movement so slight all but Jason, who was in the only position to see it, missed it.

"That can be arranged." McCall said. "And your men agree?"

Five 'yessir's.

"You know Hayes, you are one conceited son-of-a-bitch." The Admiral dropped Navy speak. "Down right cheeky bastard, aren't you? You just go about your way, ignoring orders, violating..." six grown men hunched shoulders and shuddered. "...rules, making your own. Demanding rights and favors you have no business being granted. Wounded men are not returned to their teams to be 'taken care' of. By all rights. Spencer should be removed from your command and reassigned."

"But that's not going to happen, is it?" Jason's voice had lowered, turned lethal. "For the same reason I'm not locked-up and relieved of command. Hell, you don't have the balls to even demote me."

"Hayes." McCall warned. "Blackburn, you claim you can control him. Do something."

But Eric remained quiet, curious to see how far Jason would take it and how far Brochin would let him.

"You have a hard-on for the kid's old man and you took it out on Clay. You let that prick from D.C. take him to a village with a market where blondes are kidnapped and sold and you knew that. You did. I told you no. But before I could tell Spenser, you had him assigned and on his way with only an interpreter and an MP. Which is bullshit, because he can understand the local language well enough. But maybe you didn't want anyone in that village talking. Is that it?"

"I would never knowingly endanger or arrange entrapment of an American Soldier."

"No?"

"Jason." Eric warned.

"You sent him." Jason repeated. "And you didn't tell me when shit hit the fan. You didn't tell me he was taken. You didn't approve a rescue until morning."

"Jason!" Eric said more harshly.

"And you and your men are not arrested, discharged, stripped of rank or disciplined." The Admiral snarled. "Confined to barracks is not a fit punishment for your disobedience and behavior."

Uh, confined without outside contact for an additional three weeks? Yeah, I think it is, Ray thought again. Though after a week, they would get some privileges back. And be allowed outside, if only within their fenced-in quarters.

Jason wasn't intimidated and he didn't back down. The Admiral finally did.

"You want him, when the doctor releases him, you've got him." And the Admiral pivoted and stalked out of the barrack, the MP's falling in behind.

Commander McCall sighed then offered his hand to Jason. "My apologies. I sent Blackburn off base because he objected to Dawson's request and I regret those actions led to what happened to Special Warfare Spenser."

"Commander McCall." Jason acknowledged, and shook his hand.

"I will attempt to gain permission for one of you to contact family before your term of internment commences. They can spread the word." McCall nodded to the rest of Bravo team and took his leave.

"You can control Jason?" Sonny snorted. "Since when?"

Eric had the grace to look abashed. He shook his head with a grin. "Had to promise McCall something." He gave Jason a look and an understanding passed between them. "You're sure you want Spenser here with you for a month?"

"Yessir." Trent said firmly.

Eric nodded. "Just do me a favor, will ya? When your sentence is over, behave. I want to go home and I can't go until you are all on board and off this soil."

"You can count on us!" Sonny sang cheerfully and mock saluted Eric.

***000***

And what happened?

Why, the very first day off punishment, they gathered with Clay, at a local bar frequented by other members of the armed services, for celebratory drinks. Lisa and Mandy joining them.

"Sit." Ray ordered Clay.

"Stay." Trent patted his shoulder.

"Here you go cupcake." Sonny joined Clay at the table. "One frozen Margarita for our snow flake."

Clay sighed. He was off all meds. Sleeping on his back. Eating normally. Wearing a shirt. Able to don shoes. Could walk with only a slight limp. And yet, he was still denied a cold beer.

"I'm good guys, really." He insisted, lip curling in distaste at the frilly umbrella in his girly drink.

"Not with us, you aren't."

"What'd I do?" he asked, perplexed.

"You got kidnapped."

"Nearly sold."

"Almost someone's bitch."

"But….but…." he sputtered. "That wasn't my fault!"

"Oh, you're not getting off with lame excuses."

"You're still getting a serious beat down."

"I didn't know." Clay protested. "I didn't know!"

"Outta do it now. He can't run."

"Didn't say we'd hurt you."

"Won't break any bones."

"Just a bruise. Maybe two."

"Dye his hair."

"Aw, fuck man, fucking Frogs."

"Just lookit those crew cuts."

"Gives 'em away every time."

"Hey Hayes!" yelled one of fucking Frogs.

"Heard you lost someone!"

"Yeah! Maybe you should keep your pet rookie on a leash."

And that's how the fight - all out brawl - started.

And the reason Lieutenant Commander Eric Blackburn was delayed getting home for another two weeks.

***END***

.


End file.
